The Spirit's Lounge
by Emeraleyes
Summary: One chance encounter changes the direction of two lives. Years later, their lives collide again, and the past begins to haunt, as it so often does. [written for the Spring 2007 DG Fic Exchange]
1. Shiver

This fic was written for **rarity**, as part of the Spring 2007 D/G Fic Exchange, who requested the following:

**What would you like to receive:** Set a few years after book seven/the end of the war. Draco & Ginny had a one night-stand/fling and after years they meet up unexpectedly. They are drawn to each other through similar experiences, loss, and lust. Who died? Who lived through the war? Can they find it in their heart to forgive, forget, and love?  
**The tone/mood of the fic:** Angst/darkness/intimate  
**A Theme/element/line of dialogue/object you would like in your fic:** Darkness/forgiveness/repentance  
**Rating of the fic you want:** R or NC-17  
**Canon or AU? Canon:** HBP compliant, please!  
**Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): **Fluff, OOC-ness (like Draco being Harry's best friend or Ginny hating the trio)

Special thanks to **Embellished**, who valiantly offered her help when I was flailing about getting the fic done before the deadline, giving both her time and excellent feedback.

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**The Spirit's Lounge**

**_Part One: Shiver_**

_The Spirit's Lounge _was definitely known as one of the seedier locales in the city, and it wasn't the dark corners and peeling paint alone that contributed to its reputation. But for any halfway decent waitress who was smart enough to turn a blind eye to the number of mysterious "packages" that changed hands, undoubtedly containing any number of illegal potion ingredients, it was a place to earn a good living. Or, at least, that was what Ginny Weasley told herself as she carried take-away cartons back to the customers from the kitchen, cartons that contained anything but the restaurant's sub-standard fare, pretending that she wasn't handing over a small piece of her soul as she did it, especially when the well-dressed customers smiled knowingly at her, and slipped a few extra Galleons into her palm as they thanked her politely for her service. But it was all in the name of survival, so she pushed aside the chill in her stomach every time she recognized a face at one of her tables and remembered what horror had been _their_ claim to fame during the war.

"There's been a change in management," Carol, another waitress, told her with a knowing look. Ginny paused for a moment, a giant swell of relief sweeping through her as she grabbed Carol's hand.

"Has Jordan been sacked?" she whispered furiously, barely daring to hope that it could possibly be true. She sighed heavily as Carol shook her head with a wry smile and a sympathetic shrug.

"Sorry, dear, he's still very much employed," she said kindly, knowing full well how uncomfortable Jordan's rather lecherous attentions made Ginny. He made it very clear, as often as possible, that her looks were the only reason he'd even considered hiring Ginny, especially considering her family connections. Desperate at the time, she'd shrugged it off, knowing that sooner or later, he'd grow bored with the chase and leave her on her own. However, he'd only been getting worse. "He _has _been demoted, if that's any consolation to you at all."

"It'll have to do, I suppose," Ginny said, biting her lip nervously. "Although, he's probably going to be in terrible mood for weeks, and you know what a filthy temper he has."

Carol nodded solemnly, remembering the last time she'd seen a display of his anger – Ginny had slipped because of spill that hadn't been cleaned up, breaking a tray of glasses. He'd become so enraged, he'd smashed his own glass at her feet.

"So, our new manager – is he an actual restaurant management, or is he part of The Management?" Ginny asked, with a pointed look. The convoluted network of rich and influential men who had seized control of the black market trade soon after the war had ended was generally referred to as The Management at _The Spirit's Lounge_, as they were, indeed, the management of the club and many others like it, using it as their legitimate front for their illegal businesses. Other than a few lesser grunts, such as Jordan, the staff's knowledge of those involved was limited to a few glimpses of men in dark suits leaving unseen through the back door.

"Oh, he's management of The Management. One of the top guys. Can't figure out why they'd send him here. Perhaps in a bid to make our little spot a touch more posh?" Carol said, gesturing to the faded wallpaper.

"It would take the Minister of Magic himself to make this place resemble anything close to posh," Ginny said, rooting around in her cupboard, looking for her order pad and pocket-quill. Her shift started in a few minutes, and Jordan, given the news of the shift in his career path, probably wouldn't be very understanding if she wasn't punctual. She pulled out her coat, thinking that maybe she'd stashed it there, when it tumbled out of her pocket.

"How about his son?" Carol burst out suddenly, resembling a child with a major secret she just couldn't keep to herself any longer. Crouching down to retrieve her note pad, Ginny felt her heart start in a very uncomfortable way. She glanced up at Carol, her eyes large with worry.

"But… that would be impossible, wouldn't it?" she whispered. Carol frowned.

"Ginny, are you alright? You've suddenly gone pale!" she exclaimed. Ginny, her heart pounding painfully in her chest, had no time to formulate any response, as the door to the employee's change room burst open.

"Everyone, I need your attention for a moment!" Jordan's snide voice called out, utterly unmistakable, even though she couldn't see him from where she was crouched on the ground. "As some of you may have heard, we have a guest that Management has sent us for a few weeks. There's been some talk of renovations and increasing the more… aesthetic appeal of our fine establishment, which Mr. Malfoy shall be overseeing for a time."

Ginny shut her eyes as tightly as she could, willing herself to wake up. Every nerve in her body was jangling, overloading her senses, making it harder to think – or not think. She hadn't allowed herself to think of him, not since that night… not since after the night of the fire. Her one sin, her one indiscretion… her one golden memory.

She felt a hand touch her shoulder and she jumped, biting back a yelp. She met Carol's worried and confused expression, and just shrugged, hoping it would be enough. While Carol could be considered a friendly coworker, she was hardly a friend. Ginny didn't have friends, not anymore.

Trying to collect herself even as she felt Jordan's furious eyes on her, she stared straight forward, grateful that Draco Malfoy, the new Manager, seemed far too preoccupied by the stunning blonde speaking to him while gesturing to a clipboard. Her skin crawled with memory even as her mind tried to shut it out, but her body, her senses, wouldn't let her forget. As her eyes drank in, against her will, his tall form and those familiar gray eyes, she wasn't sure what she wanted to do more – vomit or run as far away as possible.

She stood, trying to control the trembling in her limbs, as he finished his conversation with the woman standing next to him. Then, even as an unwanted thrill of anticipation surged through her veins, he looked up at the handful of servers and kitchen staff that were standing motionless in the change-room, waiting for him to say something. His eyes scanned the room. Ginny held her breath as they passed over her, watching his face out of the corner of her eyes, wondering if she could make out any change in his expression, and hating herself for that curiosity.

"As Jordan said, I'm here to fix the image of this…_restaurant_," he said snidely, "into something that will not be such an embarrassment to be owned by the Malfoy family. I expect a great deal of cooperation in this matter."

With that dismissive close, he simply turned and walked out of the room without another word. Ginny released the breath she'd been holding, feeling relief that he hadn't seemed to notice her at all. But the familiar sound of his snide, arrogant voice, the memories it invoked, sent an even more familiar shiver down her spine.

**_Fifth Year – early spring_**

Even though it was such a chilly morning, Ginny had left Gryffindor Tower rather early in the morning. She'd been feeling _pensive_ – that was the only word she could think of to describe the deeply unsettled feeling she'd been carrying around in the pit of her stomach. It was much worse when she was alone, but dealing with an overprotective brother and an overly jealous boyfriend, she found herself wanting to be alone more and more. So, when she woke just after dawn that morning and saw how gray and gloomy the landscape was, her skin had started to itch with the knowledge that in a few hours' time, the common room would be full to bursting with her grumpy House-mates, all suffering from cabin fever. She'd dressed quickly, grabbed a textbook and headed outside before anyone else stirred and ruined her chance at solitude.

She'd wandered all the way down to the lake, enjoying the way the heavy fog cast a bleak atmosphere over the landscape. It made the school seem completely empty, as if she were the only one out there. After an hour of rambling over the grounds, the damp chill in the air started to take its toll, and her teeth started to chatter. Cursing herself for wearing nothing more that her white cotton school blouse as the misty fog grew into a healthy rain shower, saturating her clothing and soaking her to her skin, Ginny debated going back to the main building to dry off and warm up, but she wasn't quite prepared to finish her lonely walk. So she took a detour, spotting the owlery as she passed, deciding that it would be the perfect place to hide out until the rain stopped.

She crept quietly into the building, careful not to disturb much. A few owls blinked their glowing eyes at her presence, but after a few half-hearted hooted greetings, they then ignored her. Ginny climbed the steps up to the loft, her teeth chattering all the way, despite the fact that the air inside the building was warm and heavy. Her sopping shirt was clinging uncomfortably against her skin, and her wet hair was dripping in her face.

She reached the small loft, her senses soaking in the peace and quiet of it. The owlery was so warm, dark and quiet, it normally made her drowsy just being in the building, but on a day like that, it seemed the perfect refuge to curl up with her textbook and dry off. After a cursory look around her, she unbuttoned her blouse, peeling the soaked material away from her skin. Standing in only her kilt and damp cotton bra, Ginny laid her shirt over the wooden banister to dry off, and as she leaned over the loft's edge to wring out her hair, a quiet little cough caught her attention, and her blood ran cold.

She spun around, her heart racing in panic as she felt her face flame with embarrassment. Ginny heard a soft rustling noise coming from one of the dark corners, and she squinted in the dim light, until the shadow of her refuge's other occupant stood up, stepping out into the dim light.

As she recognized the unmistakable blond hair and pale face, Ginny thought for sure that she was having a terrible nightmare. For it was completely impossible for this to _really _be happening, wasn't it? She wouldn't be standing half-naked, completely vulnerable, in front of the one person in the entire school who she'd vowed to never let see her in such a way? The arrogant prat who constantly prodded her about her family's money situation, about her well-known crush on Harry Potter and who had made it his mission in life to harass her brother whenever possible couldn't possibly be standing there, seeing her without her shirt on. But as she stood there, frozen in horror, her wet hair dripping down her back, she met an expressionless pair of grey eyes and knew that this certainly _was _happening to her.

Hands jumping to cross against her chest, she turned around as quickly as she could, as soon as she was able to regain control of her body. She ripped her shirt off the banister and gathered it against her chest, pressing it as tightly as she could to her body, even though it was much too late. He'd obviously seen everything. Her heart pounded as she just imagined what people were going to say once they heard, and she tried to guess how many hours would pass before the entire school learned that Draco Malfoy had seen little Ginny Weasley with her shirt off. She could just hear the insults and derisive comments that were going to come her way, and as she pictured what Harry or her brother might say about the whole thing, she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could wake up from the nightmare.

Ginny could still feel his eyes on her, and as her heart pounded, she willed him to just leave. Minutes that felt like decades slipped by before she finally heard motion coming from where he'd been standing. The rustle of hay crunching beneath his shoes, a few slow steps, and then she could feel his presence behind her, looming over her.

Her pulse quickened, and she could feel a strange sort of heat blush over her bare skin. She clutched her wet shirt even tighter against her, willing him to leave because it was so hard to breathe with him standing so close to her.

Then, he bent his head closer – he must have, because she could feel his breath warm against the sensitive skin of her neck, and it was sending shivers down her spine. Breathing shakily, she kept her eyes shut and tried to ignore him, wondering what it was that he was doing, her muscles taut with the tension of the moment. But then her senses jolted to life as she felt a soft touch drawing a line gently from the nape of her neck, to her shoulder and down her skin, to her hip. She trembled from the touch, scarcely daring to move.

Ginny tilted her head around slightly, glancing back at him out of the corner of her eye. His head was bent towards her, so close that his mouth was hovering just next to her ear, and he seemed to be staring at her, even as his hand was now lightly trailing up her spine, causing a delicious sensation that made her skin erupt into goose bumps.

And then he sighed, one long heavy sigh against her neck, and she felt something soft drop down around her shoulders. Jerking her head back to stare straight ahead and squeezing her eyes shut once again, Ginny's heart started pounding once more. But all she heard were his footsteps as he backed away. A few seconds later, she could hear him quickly walking down the steps, heard the heavy door to the owlery open and shut, and knew that she was blissfully alone once again.

She dropped her cold, wet shirt, and as she moved, the object draped around her shoulders slid off, and her hand moved to catch it. Startled was hardly the word to describe it when she realized that she was clutching a school robe, and that Draco Malfoy had draped his school robe across her shoulders as she stood in front of him shirtless.

Head spinning from the dizzying swirl of thoughts cluttering her brain, Ginny's instincts took over, and shut down her mind's control over her body. She wrapped the robe tightly around her as she dashed down the steps, not pausing or even flinching as she ran out of the owlery, back out in the rain, which had grown worse and was now lashing down heavily from the sky. She spotted him up ahead, walking back towards the school at a slow, steady pace, as if heedless to the rain. She ran to catch up with him.

He must have heard her footsteps behind him, because he slowed and turned to face her. She stopped abruptly, unsure of what to do now that she had followed him out there. Anything she could think of to say caught in her throat, and so she stood there, just staring at him. He was staring back, his unreadable eyes locking on hers in a moment of intensity that she'd never experienced before. A magnetic force seemed to be pulling her towards him, and before she could stop herself, she was moving towards him, slowly, deliberately, even as her heart pounded in her chest with every step she took.

He met her halfway, striding forward, reaching out to cup her face in his hands. There was a moment of pause, as his eyes met hers again and they both seemed to realize the enormity of that moment, but the magnetic force was too strong and it drew them together, despite whatever protest their minds could conjure, until they were standing so close together, she could feel his body heat. His hands guided her face towards his as he stood over her; his lips grazed against hers and a thrill unlike anything she'd ever experienced washed over her. The deliciously sinful sensation of his lips against hers, of his tongue slipping into her mouth and brushing against hers in a torturously teasing manner, of the heat from his body, of the cold rain beating down on them, was almost too much to bear. Her legs started to tremble.

He pulled away, one hand still resting against her cheek. His veiled eyes met hers once again, and she noted that there now seemed to be an almost indiscernible softness in them, almost a shade of wistfulness. His eyes darted away, and he looked down. She could feel his pulse pounding in his wrist against her throat and thought for a faint moment that her heartbeat was matching his. He looked back at her, biting his lip and it struck her that she was seeing Draco Malfoy in a completely vulnerable moment - that what had just happened had made him completely vulnerable and had exposed something of himself that others weren't meant to see.

With a soft sigh that made her long to throw her arms around him, he gave her a short little nod, then turned and walked away, back out into the rain.

That was the afternoon she ended things with Dean Thomas.

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Beyond the prompt, this story was also very much inspired by the song **Run **by **Snow Patrol **which I listened to almost non-stop as I wrote it, which helped to shape the image of a wordless encounter between Draco and Ginny. 


	2. Startle

_**Part 2: Startle**_

He looked through her. At the surface of her subconscious, she was extremely relieved with this fact. Her heart still pounded any time someone mentioned his name, or she walked into the room when he was there, or when she could just _feel_ him standing somewhere close by, but for the most part, her life at _The Spirit's Lounge _hadn't been altered by his sudden appearance. Because he looked through her. He never addressed her by name, hadn't spoken to her at all, and for all intents and purposes, she did not exist in his pristine little world. And she was relieved.

But she was also devastated. Far beneath the rational part of her brain – the part of her that kept her alive, that part which had long ago determined how to survive, even after everyone else was lost – her guiltiest daydream was being torn apart. She'd imagined, a thousand times, when the weight of her terrible loneliness became too much to bear and she couldn't help it, what it would be like if she ever saw him again, what she would say to him, how he'd react. She'd imagined many things, but none of them had ever included this persistent invisibility. He didn't deign to notice her – perhaps he didn't even remember her? – and _that_ was tearing her apart.

She tried to tell herself that it didn't matter. But, even as she wiped tables and put up the chairs at the end of a very long day with an audience composed of _him _and the beautiful blonde young lady Ginny had begun referring to as His Shadow, sitting at a table in the far corner, whispering to each other with the occasional giggle punctuating the air, she struggled to ignore the burning pull of that magnetic force which had originally brought them together.

Jordan had called her defiant, and in punishment for her defiance, he'd sentenced her to stay until the last customer was gone, even if she was there all night. He'd been furious with her when he discovered that she'd slapped the hand of his biggest client, an ogre-ish man named Murtagh who came in daily to eat and left, daily, with large take-away cartons. Except on the days he lingered all day, ordering Firewhisky by the bottle, becoming increasingly more lecherous as the hours ticked by. He'd crossed the line that afternoon, and as he'd reached out to touch her, she'd slapped his hand away. Murtagh had simply laughed, delighted by her spirit, but Jordan had seen the entire thing and had become furious. He demanded, on threat of sacking, that she stay until close, while also inviting Murtagh to stay as long as he liked.

And she was now attempting to clean around the intoxicated and disgusting lump as he guzzled alcohol straight from the bottle, slurring a barrage of comments in her direction as she studiously ignored him.

"They say you're a Weasley, girl, and the hair would make that seem true, if it weren't for the fact that you're working in a place like this. Thought this sort of place was far above that moral code of theirs?" he snarled as she walked stiffly by. She could see Jordan watching her from the door between the dining room and the kitchen, and she knew that if she reacted, he wouldn't hesitate to force this punishment on her again.

"Can I get you anything else, sir?" she asked rigidly, barely glancing at the disgusting lump. He snorted, laughing up at her through squinted eyes.

"You know, your father didn't die because 'e was one of Dumbledore's men. We didn't even get 'im because 'e was a blood traitor and a Mudblood-lover," he slurred loudly. A deathly silence fell over the empty room, and the whispered chatter in the corner stopped abruptly. She could feel two pairs of eyes on her, and vowed that she wouldn't look up, that she wouldn't dare make eye contact with him, not while her face was burning with suppressed rage.

"Then why did you 'get 'im?'" she asked quietly, defiantly mocking his slurred speech pattern. Murtagh roared with laughter.

"'E was just too damn stupid to know any better! Laugh of the Ministry, 'e was!" he chortled. Biting her lip to keep from saying anything, relying on the year she'd spent learning that silence could mean survival to help her hold her tongue, she moved away, determined to ignore him, even as his words burned at her soul. But seeing her face flush in anger wasn't enough for Murtagh, not that night, and he leapt out of his chair, sending the contents of his table crashing to the ground, shattering at her feet as he grabbed for her wrist.

"What do you want?" she demanded, her eyes blazing furiously even as his giant hand ground painfully against her skin. "Take your hand off of me, you filthy, drunken troll!"

"Ginny! Is that any way to speak to one of our best customers?" Jordan's sharp voice cut across the silence. Ginny struggled against his painful grip, determined not to cry out even as she felt the bones in her wrist grind as she struggled, and she finally managed to slip her small wrist from his club-like hand, turning to face her employer. She remained silent, knowing that it was best not to say anything at all.

"I'm so sorry about this, Murtagh, don't know why we even keep the girl around, given her breeding and all. They just don't know how to treat their superiors properly," Jordan said, as he fussed over Murtagh, who was still looming over Ginny threateningly, glaring at her in an almost lecherous manner through half-squinted eyes. It made her long for a hot shower.

The echo of footsteps filled the room, and she was startled to remember that _he_ was still in the room. Draco Malfoy stepped forward, his eyes coldly assessing the situation. Ginny felt the burning tug of that undeniable force that longed to pull her towards him, and she quelled the urge, more concerned with the fact that her fate was now in his hands. She could easily be sacked, and with that, she knew her life would become a great deal more difficult. There were very few who would be willing to hire a Weasley and uncertified witch (could she help it that the school was destroyed before she could write her N.E.W.T.s?), and she _needed _this job.

His eyes moved slowly from the mess on the floor, to the giant drunken fool of man lumbering near her. Looking at the floor, she felt the telltale shiver when his eyes looked at her. She tried not to flinch as he spoke.

"Jordan, would you mind escorting our customer outside? I'd like to have a word with you, Murtagh," he said, his voice ice cold. Jordan, silenced and bound to carry out the order from a member of Upper Management, led a stumbling Murtagh away without a word of protest, although Ginny knew he was just burning to berate her for a few more minutes.

A heavy silence fell over the room again as Ginny stood awkwardly, unsure what to make of the situation. Finally, she released a deep breath she hadn't known she was holding, and walked gingerly to the center of the mess on the floor, bending down to start collecting the larger bits of broken glass, making sure to keep her eyes trained away from him. She could _feel _his presence in every pore of her skin, and it was so disconcerting, it was making her hands shake.

She was so absorbed in concentrating on _not_ noticing him that it took the soft gasp from His Shadow to alert her to the fact that he'd finally moved. Cautiously moving her eyes up towards him, she froze as she realized that he was kneeling on the ground. His slate grey eyes met hers, as unreadable and serious as ever, and every nerve in her body jangled with his nearness. His hands moved towards her and she jerked backwards instinctively, unsure what he was planning to do. There was almost a hint of amusement about his mouth, a tiny hint of a smirk, as he simply reached past her hands and began collecting the shards of glass, his eyes never looking away. Ginny hovered, frozen, unsure what to do. She became even less sure when his nimble fingers reached out and plucked the large piece of broken glass she'd been holding, brushing her skin with his fingers. It was so light, it almost couldn't be considered a touch, but it was enough to startle her senses.

Then he stood up, carefully placed the broken glass on the table, and silently walked away. She heard the door open and shut, and knew that he'd gone out to speak with Murtagh as he'd said he would. She exhaled, a deep, shaky breath of relief - or disappointment, she wasn't sure which, and stood up, planning on fetching a broom to finish cleaning up the mess.

His Shadow was hovering nearby, her wide eyes startingly blue against her pale skin. She was incredibly beautiful, dressed in a strapless dress and delicate heels, and it made Ginny want to look away, for fear of perishing with longing to look that way, to be able to attract _his _attention, to make his eyes follow her around the room - anything to make him stop looking _through_ her.

"He just helped you clean. He just helped you clean up broken glass," His Shadow said in her soft voice, incredulously. She took a step towards Ginny, her eyes fixed on her, as if seeing her for the first time. "He doesn't help anyone, especially not when it's their job, and he just helped you."

Ginny just shrugged in response, but a secret thrill washed over her. Perhaps she wasn't as invisible as she thought.

It was never known what Draco Malfoy said to _The Spirit Lounge's_ "best customer" but that night was the very last time Ginny ever saw Murtagh in the restaurant.


	3. Spark

**Part 3: Spark**

He'd found her. It had taken almost a year, a year of careful research and discreet conversations with people he should have been too smart to speak with, but he'd found her. Then, he'd had to wait an infuriatingly long time, for the right opportunity, the right front to get himself close enough. But he'd found her.

Draco Malfoy sat back in his chair in the darkest corner of the dingy restaurant he'd offered to take over, the legitimate front to a thriving business unit of his family's corporation. After the war ended and many magical substances had suddenly become contraband, his family, despite their public loyalties (their true loyalty? To the power that a great deal of wealth provided), had become the instigators of an extremely lucrative black market economy.

That night, as had become his habit, he was now seated, carefully watching the flow of business through the shabby pub that pretended to be a restaurant. But more often than not, he watched her.

The war had changed everyone, even the ones that emerged victorious. She was so quiet now, and more reserved – similar to how he remembered her from her first year in school. Every move that she made was careful, and every word that she spoke was measured, evidence that she was aware anything she said could be turned around on her, given her surname. She wasn't the reckless, carefree spirit she'd been at Hogwarts – oh, he remembered how feisty and full of spirit she'd been - but given that she'd lost almost all of her family in that terrible fire, and the rest during the war, he could understand her reservation. But there were moments, if he watched carefully enough, when he could see a tentative spark of her defiance, and he knew there was still a chance.

That spark was most obvious whenever Jordan tracked her down and began berating her for one thing or another. He'd noticed the way Jordan was constantly looking for excuses to give the girl a hard time. Anything she did, he was quick to find fault with, and when she remained cool and collected, staring at him with steely eyes and quietly acquiescing to his demands, he just grew angrier with her, desperate to garner some type of response. Typical two year old throwing a tantrum for attention.

After the incident with Murtagh, Draco had cornered one of the other waitresses, the mousey-haired one who seemed to talk to her more often than the others, and managed to wind his way onto the subject of Jordan.

"I need to know if there is a problem that exists between my manager and the staff. There's a great deal of tension between the Weasley girl and Jordan. Is there anything that I should be concerned about?" he asked. Carol had stared back at him, afraid to say anything that would incriminate her friend, but after a few more carefully worded statements from him, she'd shrugged off her caution and started to talk.

"Jordan is the problem. I'm pretty sure he only ever hired Ginny because he wanted her… you know, _wanted _her," Carol said suggestively. Draco nodded for her to continue. "She ignored him, for the most part, with that cool act she does with all the male customers – freezing them out, pretending not to notice when they compliment her. I'm not too sure what happened exactly, because they were in the back room and no one could actually see what happened, but I think Jordan finally tried to make a move on her."

"What happened?" he asked, his voice tight with the effort to keep from showing his rage at this new information.

"She _freaked_. She started screaming at the top of her lungs, and was almost hysterical afterwards. Jordan came flying out, his face flaming red, claiming he only touched her shoulder before she started to scream. Anyway, ever since then, he's been pretty horrible to her. Some men just can't handle rejection," Carol said confidingly, as if forgetting for a moment who she was talking to.

Now that it had been pointed out to him, he could see little signs that pointed to what Carol had hinted at. But it wasn't just Jordan – every time _anyone_ came close to her or reached out to touch her in some way, she'd stiffen up or step aside. He watched her do the same little sequence – a long practiced dance, from the look of it, on four separate occasions: with one of the elderly couples who frequented the restaurant (completely oblivious to the thousands of Galleons' worth of business being conducted around them), with Carol, who tried to place a friendly arm around her shoulder, with Jordan, whose presence she took pains to avoid at all costs, and with one of the male kitchen staff members.

As he watched her that night, he tried to remember the girl he'd known during his sixth year, but she was just a sun-bleached memory. One that he'd lost so long ago. He may have found her again, but because of him and what he'd done, she wasn't the same. No one who lived through the war was, but with her… it was his fault. All his fault. Despite that sun-bleached memory, the only glimpse of peace he'd known during that year, he'd traded that vibrant, feisty girl away for his own safety.

And so he needed to be careful, needed to calculate every move, and for now, he needed to keep his distance, no matter how it burned at him to be so near.

_

* * *

_

She became an obsession when he should have been concentrating on the task before him. Ever since that rainy day, thoughts of her had consumed him. He became painfully aware whenever she was around him, and his eyes followed her whenever she was in the same area. He watched her laugh, watched her smile, watched as she played Quidditch, flying so freely in the air.

But he stayed away. Whatever had passed between them in the silence of the owlery that rainy day, it was better left unspoken, unacknowledged. To talk about it out loud would make it real, too real when compared to the hazy memory that was burned into his subconscious. His body knew, though, and it ached to be close to her whenever he sensed her around.

That was how they'd ended up under the willow tree by the lake. He'd spotted her out walking that misty morning, and he wasn't sure what force it was that compelled him to follow her, but it was drawing him to her in a way that made his skin burn when he tried to take another route. She was standing with her back to him, focused on the choppy grey waters of the lake in front of her, and he crept up behind her so slowly, so quietly, yet she still turned towards him, almost as if she'd been expecting him.

They stared at each other in silence, the span of a few heartbeats, her eyes wide and serious. But it was her mouth he was more concerned with, as she was biting her lip in such an enticing way, a way that reminded him that it had been an eternity since the one time he'd kissed her, which awakened the memory of the way that had felt. Once again enshrouded with the gaping silence of the world around them, they moved towards each other, he lunging hungrily at her mouth as her arms reached around his neck to pull her body against his.

Before either of them was fully aware of it or how it had even happened, he had lowered her to the damp grass, desperate to put as little space between them as possible. He was consumed by a feverish, pulsating need, and he couldn't think, couldn't see. All he could do was feel – the blissful friction of his tongue rubbing against hers, the warmth of her gasping breath against his forehead as he trailed his lips down her neck, the softness of her body underneath him as her hands moved against his body.

He struggled clumsily at the hem of her white cotton blouse, tearing his lips away from her skin, as he needed to glance down in order to untangle his hand from the material, before he was able to free it from where it was tucked into her kilt and slide his hand underneath, cold against her warm skin. She gasped as his skin made contact; it was the first noise she'd made. He kissed her again, silencing any further sounds that would ruin the surreal quality of what was happening between them. He didn't want it to be real, couldn't know that it was real when he knew how that school year was going to end. Silence gave it a dream-like quality that shrouded them both in safety.

His hand, clumsy with the impatience of adolescence, grasped her breast underneath her shirt and she squirmed beneath him. He nuzzled at the buttons, not wanting to take his hands away from their current occupation in order to remove that barrier, and she arched her body towards him. His heart pounding with indecision, his body, reacting instinctively, moved his other hand to hover near the waistband of her skirt.

His fingers slipped below, and suddenly, the warm pliant girl, whose frenzied breathing was hot against his neck, froze. Noting the change, he glanced up and was surprised at what he saw. She wanted him; he could tell that she did, from the way she was nibbling at her swollen lip indecisively and the cloudy sheen of lust in her eyes. She'd been afflicted by the same feverish desire that had pushed him forward, that screamed at him now for stopping.

But there was also something else, an unspoken truth – reality had set in, and she was terrified by it. Underneath the pounding hormones and haze of desire, her eyes registered a stark, almost primal fear.

He stared down at her, breath still coming in gasps, one hand still underneath her shirt. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly pulled his hand away, lingering for a second against her silky skin. She reached up and placed her small palm against his cheek, holding it there as she stared up at him with an expression of intense longing and regret – and a hint of relief.

Letting out a long, slow groan of frustration, he rolled over onto the grass beside her, staring up at the overcast sky. She sat up, her panting breaths all he could hear as she struggled to straighten out her blouse. She slipped her hand into his, squeezing it once as she lifted it towards her. She brushed the back of his hand with her lips, once and just barely, before she laid it back down to the ground as she slowly got to her feet.

He could hear her as she walked away, her shoes squishing in the damn, muddy grass.

It was only a few days later that he heard that she'd become Harry Potter's girlfriend.

* * *

It was often said that history repeated itself. Draco always thought that was a rather strange expression, as if one was accusing history of being a troublesome entity that conspired to enforce the same set of circumstances, mistakes and revelations, over and over again. 

He only went back there for a quill. It was his _favorite_ quill, however, and he'd left it in the employees' change room after lecturing the kitchen staff about their unruly conduct. It was really late, an hour after close, and he didn't think there were any employees left, so he didn't think twice before he entered the room.

In the dingy light from the soot-covered lantern burning in the corner, he almost didn't see her, but the flash of white from her bra caught his eye. She must have been in the middle of changing, because her shirt was hanging in her right hand as she searched in a bag on the bench in front of her with the other. He remembered that day, when she'd barged in on his paradise of quiet solitude, and had acted like a terrified little rabbit when she realized he was there. She'd been shivering from the dampness in the air, and there was something about the vulnerability of it all, the fact that the confident, strong-willed girl had been caught in such a moment of exposure – it pulled at him, a force he never understood. He still didn't know why he'd slipped his robe over her shoulders and left her standing there, without a word. He still remembered the devastating thrill of brushing his finger down her spine, the way her smooth, ivory skin had shone in the weak light of the owlery, forcing him to reach out and touch it.

This instance of repeating history, however, had a few marked changes that made his breath catch in his throat. Instead of the pale, dewy skin he'd seen before, that should have been iridescent in the dimmed lantern-light, there was a red, blistering scar extending from the nape of her neck down to the waistline of her skirt, covering the right half of her back. The sight hit him, full-force, in the stomach, and he let out a horrified gasp. The weight of the world was crashing mightily onto his shoulders and he could barely maintain his footing. He never imagined the scars that she would carry from the war would be physical.

There was a mirror on the wall in front of her, and at his gasp, she looked up, spotting his reflection behind her. That same stark, irrational fear that had reflected in her eyes the afternoon they'd spent in the grass under the willow tree filled her expression now.

She screamed, a terrible, anguish-filled noise that would shatter the silence between them forever.


	4. Shatter

**Part 4: Shatter  
**  
_Fifth year – spring_

_"Stay in your dormitory," _his voice said behind her, hovering near her ear. The sound of it sent a chill down her spine, even as the sound of his voice startled her to the core. He sounded desperate and deadly serious, and the fact that he was standing right behind her, his body so close to hers… she grappled with her desire turn and lunge at him, to experience everything she had a few weeks ago during that stolen hour in the soggy grass under the willow tree. But the _need _to keep that entire interaction a secret from everyone in her life won out, and she ignored it. She braced herself against the bookshelf she was facing, needing to feel something solid supporting her as her eyes darted around wildly, wondering if anyone could see them.

"No matter what happens, no matter what you hear… stay in your dormitory. Lock the door and stay there," he whispered roughly. Even though she couldn't see his face, she just knew that his eyes would have that piercing look that set her heart racing.

"Why should I?" she asked suspiciously, the first words she'd spoken to him ever since that day she encountered him in the owlery. Suddenly, his hands were gripping her elbow roughly, forcing her to turn to face him. His eyes bright and rimmed in red, he stared at her, a hard and penetrating look, and she felt a spike of fear cut through her.

"Just stay in your dormitory," he spat furiously. With that, he released her arm, and turned sharply away from her and marched away. She watched him as he walked away, her fingers shaking slightly with fear. Something very terrible was on the horizon – it had been palpable in the atmosphere ever since the horrible incident at the Department of Mysteries the year before. But now it seemed as if it was all coming to a head, and Ginny felt deep within her soul that Draco Malfoy was somehow in the very center of that storm.

By the time that night was over, everything about her life would change. Death Eaters would attack the school, her brother would be permanently scarred and Dumbledore would be killed. And Ginny had been warned that something was going to happen, and had kept that warning to herself, and would have to, forever after that night, live with the terrible weight of the guilt that she'd known and hadn't breathed a word to anyone.

* * *

_A few weeks later…_

A permanent sick feeling lodged in her stomach, Ginny had crawled through her days since that night, playing along. When Harry Potter, the unknowingly noble character that he was, had ended their relationship, she'd gone through the motions, said exactly what was expected of her and was able to shed a tear or two rather convincingly. But deep inside, she was relieved. She wasn't a match for the hero of the story, not after what had happened and the inadvertent and indirect part she'd played.

She had known, deep inside, that his warning was very serious. It was the only reason he ever would have spoken to her in such an exposed location, where anyone in the school could see. She had known that something terrible was going to happen, but didn't say anything – because she was terrified they would ask how she knew, and then she'd have to reveal not only her source, but her recent interactions with him. And it was too private and precious to her. They were _her_ stolen moments, her glimpse into "what could be" if only the world was completely different, and she hadn't wanted to share them, to allow them to be dissected by Harry and her brother as they suspiciously examined every moment, looking for the hidden motive.

She didn't want to find a hidden motive.

But now, she wanted nothing more than to be free of the endless refrains of 'what ifs' that were plaguing her every waking thought and haunting her dreams. Every idle second, her brain would spin out a new scenario where she did something differently, where she told the right person – who wouldn't ask too many questions – and everything would turn out differently. They haunted her, added to the knot in her stomach and to the weight on her shoulders.

And she had barely a moment's rest. She missed the wide open expanse of Hogwarts, the numerous hidden corridors and external buildings where she could lose herself for hours without coming across another person. Even the less-spectacular scenery of the Burrow would have been enough to satisfy her craving for space, but that was not to be. After the funeral, her family – except for Ron, who was off with Harry and Hermione, had returned to dark safety of Grimmauld Place, and the narrow space and general darkness of the building made her skin itch to be outdoors.

She had trouble sleeping at night, and her mum had explained it away, figuring that it was the anxiety and uncertainty of the times that was affecting her. There were a lot of mysterious comings and goings, always late at night, and her mother still insisted that "the children" be as sheltered from the brutal reality as possible. It only served to increase her sense of isolation.

One night, after the rest of the house was sleeping, she crept out the back, needing to feel some fresh air on her face before she completely lost her mind. But there was more to it than just guilt and the terrible sense that she'd played a part in some terrible destiny; it was as if something was calling out to her.

Ginny had barely stepped out into the weedy garden when she heard a whispered voice hissing her name. Immediately, her heart started to pound in her chest, and that magnetic force that seemed to overpower her common sense started to tingle in her toes and fingers. She stepped gingerly, dressed only in the large t-shirt she'd inherited from Bill, into the shadows, following the voice.

She was unsurprised when a hand reached out and grabbed her arm. He began pulling her away from the house, and she stumbled along, a thousand words clamoring to heard in her brain as she thought about what she was going to say to him. He stopped, several yards away, and turned to face her – a drawn, tight expression that did not at all resemble the arrogance he'd worn so easily before.

"You can't be here," she whispered, pulling her fingers away from his hand. He nodded wryly, before sighing heavily and running his hands through his hair; an exhausted teenager who was no longer simply a teenager and never would be again.

"How did you know I was out here?" he asked. She frowned, wondering the same thing. She just knew. She always just _knew_ when he was in close proximity. It wasn't a conscious choice.

"Why did you _come_ here?" she demanded, pleadingly. He'd made her life enough of a lie already.

"I don't know." His voice was heavy with weariness, but there was also that same sense of dread and foreboding, that there was something terrible on the horizon. But this time, she didn't want to hear the warning. She didn't want to know. She wanted to surrender herself to fate and let that determine the course of her life. Not some cryptic whispered warnings that made her sick to her stomach every time she thought of them.

"Then leave," she said, turning away.

"Wait!" he exclaimed in a whispered cry. He reached out and pulled her back, his hands on her face, guiding her towards him as he kissed her, a furious and possessive kiss that stole her breath away and set her pulse racing. She wrestled herself away from his grip, and, gasping, she pushed him roughly away from her, stumbling back from the force of it, her bare feet catching on a sharp stone in the grass.

"Don't you understand? You knew what was going to happen that night! You knew it because you were the mastermind behind it all. And because," she cried furiously, her eyes pricking with hot tears, "…because _you _knew, _I_ knew. And I just… I can't _breathe_ knowing that I knew and I said nothing."

"I couldn't…" he mumbled, looking away.

"Couldn't what? From what I've heard about this past year, there's not a lot you couldn't do!" she snapped, thinking of Katie Bell and Dumbledore.

"I couldn't do what I was supposed to do without you knowing," he said finally, his eyes meeting hers, shining in the dark. She fought to keep her face neutral as she stared back, horrified with what he'd said. He stepped forward, grabbing her arm, as if it would force her to listen. "You had to know. I needed someone to _know _–"

"Know what? That you were behind it all? At how clever you are and how you were able to outwit Dumbledore?" Ginny cried, furious that she had to live with this guilt because of his ego. "That you're everything a good Death Eater ought to be?"

"NO! That I'm… _not_! And you're the only one!" he cried out, grabbing both her arms as she tried to dash away. "You're the only who could be able to see it. That I couldn't do it. I needed someone to know!"

"Dumbledore knew," Ginny said, her soft words like a slap in the dark. She remembered Harry's recount of Draco's last conversation with the former Headmaster.

"He did."

"You need to leave," she said, tearing herself away. He nodded slowly and she started to back away, when a horrible thought struck her. Fear clamped around her chest like a vice, and it became almost impossible to breath. "How did you even find this place? It's protected by a Fidelius Charm…"

His gray eyes stared gravelly at her, and Ginny felt as if the world was about to collapse under her.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice low.

She stumbled away, concerned with only one thing – getting back to the house and raising the alarm, getting her family out. As she turned, a brilliant flash lit up the night sky as the house – along with her entire world – burst into flames. It was sudden, as if a lit match had found a fuel line, and the force of it threw her backwards against his body.

She was screaming, and could distantly hear her own shrieks above the din. Strong arms held her back, but she kicked and thrashed herself free, clawing at the arms that struggled to keep her next to him, to keep her safe. She could hear a voice hollering after her as she ran, bare footed, into the burning building, aware of only one thing; that everything she cared about, everything that mattered, was in there.

Weeks later, as she was still recovering from the third degree burns across the right side of her back and shoulder in St Mungo's, she learned that Harry Potter had been killed, alongside his two best friends. With him died all hope she had of ever reclaiming her fate.


	5. Serendipity

**Part 5: Serendipity**

It was a very late night. Jordan had ordered her to stay late again, after he'd thrown a typically public tantrum over something he imagined Ginny had done wrong, and now that everything was ready for his final inspection and for him to count out her bills, she had nothing to do but wait for him to emerge from the back office where he'd sequestered himself ever since his eruption.

Ginny wondered if she should worry about the fact that she barely batted an eye when he blew up at her, and if that meant she'd been too successful at numbing herself. But no, that wasn't the case. It wasn't the case at all – because that afternoon, as Jordan had exploded, _he_ had been in the room. She'd felt his eyes on them, watching as he often was from the corner table, and she'd felt something then. Anger, fear, loathing, regret… longing. Jealousy as she noted His Shadow, sitting at his side and chatting congenially, secure in her beauty as she drew many admiring glances from around the room, as he continued to observe. She definitely wasn't numb, not even close.

She looked up from the ledger where she'd been recording her receipts from the night as heavy footsteps on the wooden slat floors creaked their way towards her. Ginny stiffened immediately when she discovered that it was not Jordan who'd come into the dining room, but _The Spirit Lounge's_ manager. The one who hadn't spoken to or actually looked at her since that night he'd seen the scars on her back. He no longer even looked through her, he just didn't look.

"Where's Jordan?" she asked, her throat gone incredibly dry.

"Jordan is no longer employed at this establishment," was the cold, business-like reply. Her eyebrows shot straight up.

"Why not?" she asked, incredulously. While, by all rights, she should have been relieved, she instead felt a distinct sense of panic.

"I dislike the way he's been treating certain employees," he responded, with a pointed look in her direction, the first time he'd actually looked at her in weeks. She started, a moment of shock. Then suddenly, the floodgates were open.

"I don't need you looking out for me or trying to protect me," she snapped, not willing to even pretend that Jordan's dismissal had nothing to do with her when she knew, instinctively, it had _everything_ to do with her. "I've been on my own for quite awhile, and I can handle myself."

He stared at her in that assessing manner he had that nearly had her trembling the first time she'd been greeted by its full-force, when she was eleven at Flourish and Blotts. When his father had slipped an enchanted diary into her cauldron.

"You can handle yourself quite well, I can see that," he commented. She slapped her paperwork down in front of him, and grabbing a dusty rag from behind the counter of the bar, she went about trying to eradicate the persistent cobwebs that clung stubbornly to the light fixtures. She could hear the scratch of his quill against the parchment until after a few minutes had passed, she heard the clipboard crash to the table.

"What are you _doing _here?" he demanded, gesturing around him in disgust. "This isn't at all the kind of place for your sort. It's a living tomb for spirits who just haven't died yet. What are you _doing _here?"

"My sort is a dying breed, almost completely extinct, so I hardly think it matters," she commented coldly.

"Handing off 'packages' to customers, pretending you don't know what's inside… It's not you and if I see you taking part in that aspect of my business, I'll have you sacked," he said, with an air of finality. Ginny stopped what she was doing, throwing down her rag on the nearest table as she stomped towards him.

"So, I finally exist, do I? Have you finally noticed me? Finally decided to acknowledge my presence in your world?" she shouted, tears stinging behind her eyes. "Why now?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said stiffly, averting his eyes.

"You took _everything_ away from me! They are all gone, and I'm still here and all alone and it's because of _you_," she cried out, choking back a sob as her voice broke. "And you won't even look at me and you pretend as if I'm not even here, as if you never met me before. When you took everything!"

"Ginny."

"Why? Why won't you look at me?" she cried out. Draco grabbed her arms, shaking her slightly until she looked up at him. His eyes were dark and clouded. But now that she'd started, she wasn't able to stop, not until she received an answer, not matter how much the it twisted inside to even ask it, to even acknowledge that it was a question she wanted answered. "You wanted me once, don't you remember? You watched me all the time. You _followed me _out to the willow tree that day. But now, I'm scarred and ruined and you can never look at me the same way again!"

"Because it was _my fault_," he said harshly, his words like a slap. She gasped as tears slipped down her face. "I planned and lead the attack. I was given the choice of either my family or yours, and I made the only one I could."

"Then why did you save me?" she shouted. "Why were you out there waiting for me that night? I am tortured by the fact that I knew something was going to happen the night that Dumbledore died and didn't say anything, and that the same secret that made me keep quiet is the same reason I'm still here while everyone else is gone. Why would you do this to me?"

The grief in her voice seemed to break him, if only for a split second. He'd grown very skilled at hiding his emotions.

"You were the only one who knew. I'm selfish and I'm used to getting what I want, and what I _wanted_ was for the one person who knew what I _wasn't_ to stay alive. As long as that happened, there was still a chance."

"Still a chance for what?" she asked, her voice leaden.

"I'm not sure. My soul, perhaps."

"I can never forgive you for that."

"It's not forgiveness I want," he said. He clasped her face in his hands, drawing it up to face him as he stared intently down at her. Her heart pounding, her mind screaming at her even as that force that made it burn to be too far away from him took over. A desperate, irrational need overwhelmed her, and she grabbed at him, capturing his lips. He responded instantly, pulling her tightly towards him, pressing his body against his as he sought to finish what had been started between them so long ago.

Passion and instinct took over, and they pawed at each other, their clothing chaffing at their skin. In their desperate hurry, they ripped cloth when buttons proved to be too much of an impediment, and as skin touched skin, the force binding them only grew stronger, the burning need to be close, to be one, becoming unbearable until it was at last satisfied.

Afterwards, she had collapsed against him, and thought she might weep from the wonderful feeling of release, of completion. Until his fingers trailed up her spine, brushing lightly against her skin. She shimmied away from his lingering touch on her right shoulder, quick to hide her scarred flesh from his sight, picking her clothing off the dusty floor and ignoring the way he was staring at her. Now that he was looking, she didn't want to acknowledge it.

"The war left scars on us all. Yours are just physical," he murmured, pulling away the shirt she'd draped across her shoulders to hide her scars to nuzzle at her with his lips.

"Don't," she said, shying away from his touch. He ignored her, pulling her into his lap so that she was facing him, straddling his hips. Cupping her face with both his hands, he looked directly into her eyes, a long searching gaze that made her feel more complete than she had in years, but also filled her with an indescribable fear. After leaning his forehead against hers, he pulled away, his thumb stroking her brow.

"Fate keeps throwing us into each other's lives, and terrible things happen. I've made arrangements so that it won't happen again," he said. Her body froze at his words, and after a moment, she glanced at him, wounded.

"I'm not going anywhere. It's not like I have anywhere else to go, or anyone to go to," she said stiffly. The spell of the afterglow broken, she pulled away from him, standing up, gathering her twice-discarded clothing.

"Do you have any idea how long it's taken for me to work my way into a position where I could even get this close to you? They watch me a great deal, they don't trust me. Why do you think they assigned me to manage _this place_? I may be Upper Management, but this is a dead-end, quite literally a tomb. And I can't even talk to you freely, because they know who you are and that you somehow managed to survive the fire that killed your family. That I planned and executed."

"I don't see where you're going with this."

"There is nothing for you here. If I interact with you as anything more than an employee… Silence and invisibility, that would be your life. You need to leave here, and I know exactly where you have to go."

"And where is that?" she asked, trying not to show how much her legs were trembling. She'd only just gotten a taste of what it was like to be with him, after wondering so long, and feeling horribly guilty and isolated from everyone around her because of that desire - to know, to experience it. And now he wanted her to leave it all behind.

"Your brother and his friends might be alive. The Ministry never found the bodies, and just spread word that they'd been killed, believing it would give them the best chance if no one was looking for them. And I think I know where you can find them."

"Alive?" she breathed. She closed her eyes, counting to ten as she inhaled and exhaled, hardly able to comprehend what he was telling her. There was a chance they were alive? That she wasn't alone after all?

"It's a long shot and it may not pan out, but at least it's hope, which is better than what you have here. You have to leave tonight – as soon as possible. It might already be too late."

"Tonight?" she parroted. She continued to gather her now-tattered clothing, dressing haphazardly as she went. He wanted her to leave. "Fine. Show me where to go, and I'll go."

And that's how Ginny Weasley began her stilted walk out of his life.


	6. Sealed

**Part 6: Sealed**

He'd been sitting in the office for hours, just staring blankly in front of him. It was done. He'd handed the redhead, the girl that had tormented his dreams since the rainy day he'd seen her half-naked, off to his most trusted contact, who promised to make sure she reached the final destination. She'd been rather brisk in her final farewell, barely saying a word to him, hardly looking at him before she turned and walked out of his life forever. But it was done, and now he was free from her spell.

Except he couldn't shake the feeling of longing. Longing to be in the same room, to be near her, to feel that eternally painful need to be close to her. It was for the best that she was gone, and it meant that he'd taken a small step in trying to mend some of his own post-war scars. But, after he'd returned to the restaurant, his knees had grown rather weak as he observed the empty dining room, grown all the more dingy and depressing without the tentative, flickering light of her suppressed spirit. It had nearly broken him.

But it had to be done, and the memories would be his scars to carry.

Footsteps in the kitchen interrupted his thoughts, and curious as to who would be there at this late hour, he rose from his desk and walked out.

And there she was, standing in front of him. Shock was immediately replaced with anger.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded furiously.

"I came to pick up my schedule. I need to know what I'm working next week," she said simply, walking over to the bulletin board by the office to scan the posted parchment for her name and shifts.

"You were supposed to go!" he protested. She turned to face him, her brown eyes meeting his, and for the first time since that spring of his sixth year, he recognized the spark of fire that had initially drawn him in so deeply.

"This is the place for me. I guess you didn't hear, but Ginny Weasley died that night, in the fire with the rest of her family. You keep trying to save her, but it's a useless endeavor, because she doesn't want to be saved. Not from you, not from this," she said, her voice even and firm. "You have no right to keep trying to save her."

"Ginny," he protested.

"I've lived for quite some time without any hope at all. How dare you bring it back when it's the last thing I wanted?" she said.

"Ginny – "

"Ginny Weasley died in that fire, and _The Spirit's Lounge _is the right place for me," she said. "Even if it means a life of silence and invisibility."

"No," he said, even as he walked towards her, drawing her body towards his. "Not for you."

"Even if terrible things happen this time, just accept your fate," she said.

**The End**

* * *

Thanks to **rarity** for the awesome prompt, I really enjoyed writing this story and never would have without it. 

Thanks also to those of you at the **D/G Fic Exchange** who nominated/voted for this fic and helping it win "Darkest Overall" and tying for "Best Kiss", that was really nice.

This fic was completed May 30th, 2007, and therefore was completely written (and even posted at the Fic Exchange) before _Deathly Hallows_ was released, and therefore, is now completely and utterly AU and OOC. While writing, I did try to make it canon-compliant (a first for me), so I hope you enjoyed my interpretation of Draco and Ginny's 6th and 5th year (respectively).

Thanks for reading.


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